Jane Air

claiming her like a caveman. Fucking her in the shower, in front of the fireplace, in the bed-
Shit, I have no bed. Just a mattress on the floor. Well, that won’t impress anyone. Probably shouldn’t introduce myself to my forest nymph until I have some furniture.
I close my eyes and shake my head.
It is a nice thought, this dream of woodland sprites come to beckon me into the magic of the trees.
But let’s be real.
This woman has figured out where I live. She has trespassed on my property. She has stripped naked and, probably, is on her way to break into my actual house, but just stopped by the pond for a dip.
Fucking nut job.
It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with things like this.
I roll my eyes. Some people have no sense of boundaries. Some people need to be punished.
My cock jumps at the thought.
I look down at myself, remembering when I was younger and less experienced with the darker side of fame. I would probably have jumped in the pond with her. No names. No promises. Maybe no words at all. Just a great night, fucking each other’s brains out.
But that was before I understood what people really want from me.
One great night is never enough. Even fucking is never enough. No matter what they say.
They want money.
Fame.
Connections.
Phone numbers.
Swag bags.
Auditions.
Jewelry.
Houses.
They want all the things they think I come with.
And if I had none of those things…
I sigh, slipping my hand in my back pocket for my phone. Angelo has already reached out to the local police, explaining my situation and the likelihood of stalkers, trespassers and break ins. He said they were very understanding.
I look for the number of the station and shrug. Just another dream that’s better off as a dream.
Goodbye fairy sprite.

3
Jane
I love this little spot. No one knows it’s here. My private forest glen I can come to when I’m stressed, tired, or need to be alone. The only other visitors I’ve ever seen are a few deer, a groundhog, and the occasional owl, peering down at me through the tree branches, head rotating as if surveying the scene beneath him.
The pond isn’t large, but it’s clean and the water reminds me of my childhood, the river I’d escape to when the electricity bill hadn’t been paid and the lights were out, or my mother came home, exhausted from her multiple jobs, and accidentally threw my library books in the trash. The smell of this water, like the river of my youth, is crisp and clear with a faintly animal undertone, like the earth itself is gurgling up from between the rocks.
The edges of the pond are lined in stones, some small, some large. It looks like a man-made structure, designed to be here, tucked away as a private nook for someone. I wonder if it’s our local version of the Taj Mahal, built out of love, a memorial for someone from long ago, from a time so far past that both artist and inspiration have passed on, leaving this forgotten heirloom behind for me to discover.
Perhaps it has a happier story. Perhaps it was built for a family, a place for children to swim and escape the heat while parents watched from the rocks.
Kids are different now. Everyone loves a screen. Maybe it was only built a few years ago, but no one showed any interest, so everyone forgot about it.
Regardless, I view it as my own. I know it’s not mine, it’s not anyone’s probably, but I’m the only one who seems to appreciate it, to enjoy it, and I feel that entitles me to something.
I reach my favorite spot, the largest rock on the far side of the pond, away from the path I’ve made for myself through the woods. To get here, I follow the road behind my house for a half mile, then duck off along an old trail that carries over to the next town. There’s a break in the stonewall at the bottom of the hill, always in shadows from the big trees growing up on either side. The pond is only a few hundred feet past that.
No one has ever followed me. No one has ever mentioned it to me. I’ve never even found a beer can or a candy wrapper around here.
It’s probably the one thing I’ve never told anyone about. Including my friends.
This little place is mine. I smile as I pull the t-shirt over my head. One day, when I can afford it, I’ll buy a plot of land and build my own pond, and then I won’t have to sneak around in the woods behind the town. But for now… I grin as I tuck my clothes into a pile next to the rock and climb naked across the top, the moss soft between my palms and damp between my toes. For now, I’ll just swim here.
The water is cool and smooth. It runs like oil across my skin. It isn’t deep and I can stand up even in the middle, where the water reaches just below my chin. My favorite thing to do is to dive below, running my hands over the smooth rocks and silt along the bottom, my toes dancing in the air overhead, then rush up, laughing as I lift myself, bouncing towards the sky. I think the thing I like most about swimming is the lightness, the freedom from weight and burden and bills and coursework and deadlines and-
“Just so you know, I’ve already called the police.”
My thoughts slam to a halt as I immediately duck down. I am halfway towards the middle of the pond and I have to crouch to cover myself. It’s not quite a full moon, but there’s still plenty of light. I glance down at myself. Yup. Pasty whiteness all the way down to my toes. For the first time since discovering this place, I curse the clarity of the water.
I turn my head and see a man leaning